No Roses Are Allowed
by westpoints
Summary: [complete]'...which is rather lewd and all together very droll.' Addison is planning her wedding. Slightly gross food and poorly disguised innuendos are included. Maddison friendship.


Yes, yes, I'm back. Junior year is ridiculous, and the SAT is coming up. eeergh.

Anyway. Weddings are always fun to write about. Scratch that. Wedding plannings are always fun to write about. And a wedding planning scene with Maddison friendship and lamb's head? Hysterical.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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"Roses are not allowed," Addison Montgomery-soon-to-be-Shepherd said decidedly. A dark-haired man beside her twisted his lip into a wry smile as she barked over the phone.

"Neither are tulips. Same for daisies, lilies, or snapdragons. Yes to orchids, yes to hyacinths, maybe to geraniums." There was a brief moment of silence. "Yes, you're allowed to use them in the bouquet. I am sure. No, _no_ tulips on the tables. All right. Thank you." She hung up with a huff and got back to designing a badly-drawn bouquet.

"You know," he said quietly, causing her to start slightly. "I've always heard that in the months between engagement and marriage, the happily bride-to-be goes a bit insane."

Addison arched an eyebrow. "A bit?"

Mark laughed. "Well, batshit crazy, but considering where you started from..." She stuck her tongue out petulantly at him. "And why isn't Derek helping you out with your happy wedding plans, in this wonderful...workspace of a hospital bed?"

"He is." Mark looked pointedly around the space. "I mean...he's picking out the menu."

"Derek's picking out the menu?"

"Mmhmm."

"_Derek_ is picking out the menu?"

"Yes, we've established that you have amazing parrot-like abilities."

"Addison, Derek is fond of lamb head, and the parts of chicken that you're not _supposed_ to eat, and _anchovies_—"

"Now, Mark, there is nothing wrong with anchovies," said Addison.

"_Everything_ is wrong with anchovies. You eat their bones and their eyeballs, they're basically blocks of salt on your pizza, and my god, _who_ mixes fish with cheese, anyway?" he asked.

"_I_ do, Mark, and if you want to stay and laugh at me trying to plan out my wedding on an empty mattress, then you will not make fun of my fiancé, and you will _promise_ not to laugh when he asks you what you want for entrees, lamb head or no." She glared at him superficially.

"You're trying not to laugh."

"I am not," she said indignantly.

"You are." She gave up and smiled widely, if only to keep her teeth clenched together from bursting out in laughter. "Okay, I promise." He fell silent for a few seconds. "I will not promise, though, not to say embarrassing things about you two during my toast," said Mark gleefully.

"How embarrassing?" asked Addison.

"Oh, well, there was the supply closet on the third floor—"

"Mark! Children will be there!" she yelled, only slightly scandalized.

"Pity, then," he said, only slightly put off. "I'll just teach them songs with badly disguised innuendos during the rehearsal. You will be dancing your first dance as a married couple to 'Where Life Begins' by Madonna, and then we'll launch into a full concert of any song that is only sung after adults with dirty minds get really drunk."

"Oh really."

"Yes, really. Then, towards the end, we'll have a nice performance of the Hedgehog song, which is rather lewd and altogether very droll."

"The Hedgehog Song?" He nodded.

"Oh, you'll see. Maybe. If you're not hiding behind the lamb's head by the 17th verse."

"Oh, God." Addison ran a hand through her hair. "_You_ are _determined_ to make this the most embarrassing wedding, aren't you?"

Mark grinned maliciously. "Then Derek will sit there with that look on his face."

"What look?"

"That look, the one that says 'I want to laugh, but I'm not supposed to, but that is just hilarious.' He does it all the time around you."

"He does?" she asked indignantly.

"He does." He watched Addison doodle a picture of half-dead pansies on her legal pad as she thought over this new revelation. Mark reached out carefully and captured the seating chart, rubbed out a few names, and penciled in some new ones. "Here," he said, holding it out to her.

"You put Cary at our table."

"Mmhmm."

"But I hate Cary."

"Which is why she's next to me, and not the bride."

"But I hate her. She hates me. She'll probably wear white, just to spite me," Addison spat.

"Then I suggest you rectify that situation with a strategically placed plate of spaghetti." Mark frowned. "If, of course, the insane groom has put spaghetti on the menu."

"Hey, Addi," a voice called out. Mark twisted around to see Derek advancing towards them. "Mark. What are you corrupting my fiancée with?" Mark looked deviously at Addison.

"Oh, the new fashionable patterns of spaghetti on white for anyone who upstages the bride." Derek did the Look.

"Really. Spaghetti."

Addison felt inclined to speak. "Derek, what did you pick for the menu?"

Derek sat between Mark and Addison. "Uh. Spaghetti." Addison laughed. "Steak. Salmon. Vegetable lasagna." He took her pad covered with pitiful flowers. "Very productive, I see. Come on, let's grab some lunch."

Mark's face split into a wide grin.

"What, no lamb head?" he asked their backs. Addison's shoulders hunched as she choked back a laugh. "Colonel Sanders says it's best 'finger-lickin' good'!" He called out. A passing nurse threw him a nervous glance.

"Not you," Mark said dismissively.

-end-

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All right, so it ran from me a little bit at the end. But still...

The Hedgehog Song was something I stole from Discworld, and if you ever look it up, it is quite droll in a gutter-minded kind of way.

My, oh my. Review.


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